


Bright Lights and You

by gridsandstars



Category: Phan, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, M/M, brief mentions of self-harm and hatred, dancer!dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:24:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6740074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gridsandstars/pseuds/gridsandstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan's a dancer without much luck. One day the sun comes out, but sun doesn't always bring blue skies (except maybe it does)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Lights and You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi~  
> Okay so, first, I hope you like this. It took me a while to finish bc I had no motivation for a while + important exams are now upcoming, and I'm not totally happy with it. Tbh, I could spend like another 3hours+ on it but I kinda just wanted to get it finished, so here we are.  
> Please enjoy, and comment and stuff on bits you might change, or enjoyed or anything :))

They were in London but they were in a hotel. Dan felt it was unnecessary seeing as their flat was only an hour away, but Phil thought that that hour was one too many and so there they were. The room was dim, but the lighting was warm. Dan lay on the bed, just out of sight of the webcam Phil had set up, talking to his many youtube fans, the light creating a harsh glow on his face that trickled softly to cover Dan. He had to be quiet, and so he was. Phil’s fans had met Dan before, but that didn’t mean he was used to it. Dan was used to bright lights, but usually those lights were focused on someone else, or at least all the eyes were. Dan was a dancer. At least, he was trying to be. He was graceful and coordinated but didn’t seem to fit anyone’s bill yet. But soon, maybe, hopefully.

He lay staring at the ceiling, his boyfriend’s comforting voice as background noise as he traced the swirls of paint, imagined them as the lines left in the air after turning dancers, legs high and toes pointed, backs arched; elegant. Phil’s voice acted as the music as Dan composed dances in his head for the miniature brush dancers, long gone, but their mark still left as permanent indentations into the paint. He was gone, lost in bright white lights and white dresses and and the darkness of the crowd. That was until a buzzing slowly invaded his brain, the dancers getting thrown off kilter, falling to the floor in disarray, the stage collapsing until he was left blinking at the ceiling. Phil glanced at him slightly, disturbed by Dan’s moving to get his phone out of his pocket. His gaze swam in and out of focus, his eyes put off by the bright light his phone was emitting, and the annoying buzzing it was making in his hand. He finally focused enough to recognise the number on the screen, and bolted out of the room to take the call, leaving Phil jostled and confused on the bed, apologising for the shaky camera.

He came back in moments later, much more awake, the sun beaming from his face. His eyes were squinty from the grin on his face, and he could feel his cheeks burning. Phil looked at him and frowned, and tears started to fill Dan’s eyes. Phil’s eyes widened and he rushed out a goodbye before slamming his computer lid down, rushing to stand in front of Dan.

‘What, what is it?’

Dan wordlessly wrapped his arms around Phil’s waist, tears rolling down his face.

‘I got it! I got the job!’

Phil pulled back slightly, chuckling from how muffled Dan’s voice sounded.

‘I got the job Phil! This is finally it!’

Phil broke out into a smile, hugging Dan tightly and lifting him off the floor, spinning them round and landing them both on the bed.

‘I knew you would get it’, He whispered, their faces close together, noses touching, with matching smiles and loving eyes, ‘I knew it.’

 

 

Dan was happy. He could finally say that confidently. He had felt the presence of happiness before, somewhere lurking at the back of his mind, singeing his fingers, but he was still to cold to let it engulf him entirely. Sometimes he thought that he never would, that his mind would always swallow any light that entered, but now here he was, standing on an ugly grey pavement in the middle of London, wind whipping his face as he watched cars and people whizz past him, feeling like his mind was on fire and his whole body was tingling from the warmth. He couldn’t stop grinning. His hand where he had held the pen to sign the contract was still shaking, buzzing with energy, and nervousness and shock. Dan finally felt like his life was starting, finally felt like he could see a path that he was meant to go down, where previously there was nothing, a dark abyss filled with snarling voices of discouragement, saying that dance wasn’t a good career option, that it would be hard to find work, that he wasn’t good enough. It was true that many of those voices were his own, but now they were silenced, seemingly wiped out with one swipe of a pen on freshly printed paper.

He took a deep breath, and smiled, before setting off to the train station. All he wanted to do right now was cuddle up with Phil, and bake cookies, and dance to the songs on the radio. He wanted to share his happiness with Phil, because for years Phil had covered Dan in his light, and now Dan finally felt he could do the same.

The carriage was quiet, the air filled with the sound of the train going over the tracks and also a strange static feeling that Dan couldn’t quite place. He thought it felt a bit like dread, or fear, or a sense of something bad about to happen, but he knocked it out of his head as soon as it entered, it being burnt by the sheer joy that filled his mind and ran through his veins.

Then the train stopped in a flurry of squeezing breaks and rushing air, but they weren’t at a station yet. The carriage seemed to get louder by a decibel, the sound of people shuffling, muttering in confusion. Dan noted subconsciously that the static feeling seemed to get worse, flowing through the carriage and filling up the air, pricking at his skin and at the back of his mind. He looked around cautiously, not even sure what he was looking for, before his vision got cut off.

He was startled at the sudden turning off of the lights and he was left trying to get his mind to settle as his eyes adjusted from looking at a black suitcase by the doors to seeing black all around him.

Dan suddenly felt engulfed, the static filling up his head and smothering the happiness there, smothering everything. His chest felt tight and his brain felt fuzzy. Gripping onto the arm rest he lent forward, overcome with dizziness, his throat constricting as he tried to breathe in air. The noise of the carriage seemed to get 10 times louder and it washed over him, filling up his senses and leaving him feeling enclosed, trapped.He felt like he was standing next to a loud speaker, pressed in by hoards of people all shouting at once, and the air around him seemed to get thicker.

Then, suddenly, all at once, everything stopped. The sound seemed to get sucked out of the carriage and Dan felt like he was floating, suspended in air. His chest opened up but he felt numb. He felt like he had just stepped off of a ledge and was waiting for the drop, apprehension filling up his nerves.

Then there was sound and colour. Everything seemed to come at once, like a tidal wave crashing over him. He felt his stomach drop and lurch and he was vaguely aware of feeling himself being pushed sideways. He squeezed his eyes shut, momentarily blinded by the bright flash that seemed to encompass him but also as he was hit by the wall of sound. A loud explosion rang in his ears, echoing around the tunnel they were in, displacing the air and taking it’s place. Dan felt himself hit something hard,he thought maybe the door of the carriage, or maybe the window, but his mind was simultaneously working too fast and too slow and he couldn’t process anything. The explosion stopped but it left a ringing in his ears and in his mind and all he could feel as the screams went off around him was numbness. He didn’t seem able to feel anything. He could sense a tingling in his back but below that there was nothing.

It was like his eyes were glued shut. He couldn’t open them as much as he tried and he figured that maybe he didn’t really want to. He felt a wetness slide down his face, and he resigned himself to curling himself up in a corner and switching off his mind. He felt dead, but he knew he wasn’t. He knew there were people around him who were and he wondered why he had been spared. He tried to think of a way to get out, a way to get help, but his brain short-circuited along with the rest of his body and a sudden exhaustion hit him, an exhaustion he hadn’t felt before. He felt it behind his eyes and in his brain and down his spine. He felt it in every nerve and cell he had and he couldn’t feel anything else. Tears leaked from his eyes that he was too tired to produce but was anyway and Dan wished nothing more that he wasn’t feeling anything in that exact moment. He wished he was anywhere else. He thought back to all the stories he had heard about dying and felt a bitterness fill up inside him as he thought that they weren’t true. He wasn’t dying gracefully or peacefully, he was exhausted and scared and instead of his mind burning with happiness, it fizzled with static. The burn instead was now allocated to his back and his arm, piercing and stabbing, emitting red light instead of golden and Dan thinks what did he do to deserve this.

 

 

When Dan woke up in the hospital, he was blinded by bright white lights, and for half a second he thought he was still in the explosion. Was it an explosion? It had all happened so quickly that his body had shut down before he could fully process it, but then why could he seemingly remember everything in vivid detail?

He recovered quickly, the doctors said he was lucky; lucky he wasn’t blown up in the explosion considering how close he was. People said he was blessed, that God was watching over him, but Dan couldn’t help feeling bitter because why would God let him live but take away his dream at the same time. He was paralysed from the waist down and his back was stiff, but oh, sorry, he remembers now, he’s _lucky_ that he can still use his arms, can still talk, can still breathe.

Dan doesn’t think he wants to breathe. He felt like someone had played a cruel joke on him; had lit the flame of hope inside of him only seconds later to plunge him into ice water, numbing his body and his mind and putting out the fire from the outside in.

Phil cried, of course he cried, but Dan somehow couldn’t find it himself to care, a contrast to his usual caring nature towards him. He felt angry, how dare Phil show his emotions like that? Does he not know that he can’t dance anymore?

_But you’re alive Dan, at least you’re alive._

_Dance was my reason to live._

 

 

And so like that, things went back to normal, expect it wasn’t normal, because Dan was in a wheelchair and Phil seemed like he was about to shatter, carefully tiptoeing around the flat, monitoring his words, or maybe that was because of how edgy Dan had become. 

The plants around their house were wilting and most of them were dead. Dan couldn’t help thinking it was symbolic, they’d run out of oxygen, and he felt like he had, but instead of wilting, folding in on himself until he dragged on the ground, browned leaves fallen delicately about him, he was forced to sit straight up, with only stiff movements available to him. And so Dan didn’t move, but even though he looked solid on the outside, inside he was melting, his whole being turning into salt water that overflowed at the moments Dan realised how useless he had become, like when Phil had to undress him, had to lift him into the bath and into the bed. He wouldn’t admit it, but the most tears fell when he realised they were some of the only times recently Phil had touched him, his gaze being avoided as much as his body.

 

Phil had taken it upon himself to get Dan out of the house and Dan would have put up more of a fight if he hadn’t seen the shimmer of worry in Phil’s eyes, always present, but now accentuated by tears and Dan thought he could see a hint of fear in there. Did he scare Phil? No, Phil was just scared for Dan. He’d already seen how low Dan could get, remembered how bad it was, how hard it was to pull him back up, but Dan seemed worse than then and Phil didn’t want to think about what would happen if he slipped lower than before. Phil never even imagined that there was a lower level, and he shuddered at the thought of it.

So Dan agreed to be dressed in the damn suit that was slightly too big due to the weight he lost since the accident, but it was still somehow suffocating, hot and choking, clinging to his skin and his throat and Dan wanted to burn it, watch it go up in flames just like everything else he knew, but Phil had already wheeled him into the elevator, and he watched his reflection in the mirrored walls on the way down, not recognising the person he saw.

 

 

Dan could not believe Phil. Dan didn’t think Phil was ever a bad person up until now, but this crossed the god damn line and despite his efforts to stay calm, he wanted to speed back to their flat and run over Phil’s feet on the way, see how he liked being crippled for a while.

No way did Phil bring Dan to the opening night of the performance he was meant to be in.

_It will bring you closure_.

Dan wanted to smack him, wanted to knock the smile off his face and the sympathetic look out of his eyes. Dan liked to think he was patient with Phil, he never once thought he was truly stupid, but this was pushing it. The last thing Dan wanted to do was watch other dancers dance the dance _he_ was supposed to dance on the stage _he_ was meant to be on.

He wanted to shout, tried to grab the wheels and turn himself around. He could feel the scowl on his face, could feel his eyebrows pressing down into his eyes, and he could feel the stares of other performance goers, could see their disapproval in their eyes, could already sense it from their suits and fur coats and the sparkling bands that covered their ears and necks and wrists.

He felt Phil grab the handles, surprisingly strong for his weak structure, and heard him give a nervous giggle, felt the warning kick on the back of his chair, before he was pushed into the theatre, enveloped by shades of red and gold too bright.

It was a mess getting to the disabled seats, and if Dan gave one ounce of a fuck he thinks he would have complained, because disabled access is important. He wonders why Phil was still bothering, could see him pulling at his tie and his collar and his cuffs, could see how uncomfortable he was so _why can’t he understand how uncomfortable he must be?_

By the time they were seated, Dan knew he couldn’t just leave. Sure the exit was right behind him, but then he had to get the elevator, and then try to hail a cab, a hard feat when you’re only a few feet off the ground. Plus Phil was smiling, and patting his knee, and Dan felt equal parts guilty and annoyed, because Phil hadn’t smiled like that in a while, but at the same time he _didn’t want to be there._

 

 

Yes, what a shame, Dan thinks bitterly, frowning at the stage, _his_ stage. Or what was meant to be his stage. But what a shame, he thinks, _what a shame_ that I finally got the job I wanted after months of no work, _what a shame_ that things were finally looking up for me, _what a shame_ that the train I was getting back from signing for the job got bombed, _what a shame_ I got paralysed and _what a fucking shame_ that I can’t fucking dance anymore. 

Yes, what a shame, just a shame. That’s all it comes down to, that’s how much it matters. To other people, it means virtually nothing, _what a shame_ they say with their fake frowns and their small pouts, before they go on laughing about whatever ‘absolutely hilarious’ thing happened at that really expensive cocktail party. They have it easy, Dan thinks. They haven’t had their dreams crushed, they haven’t had their lives ruined. Dan doesn’t want their sympathy. But maybe he does, maybe he wants people to talk about him, the way they would have done if he were dancing on stage. No, Dan thinks, he just wants someone to understand, he wants someone to care for him, not pity him. Dan thinks that’s a thin line, and most people cross it.

Phil hasn’t crossed it, yet. Dan thinks that he’s being harsh but then he sees the sad look in Phil’s eyes when he has to get something from the top shelf, or watches him wheel into the elevator. Dan thinks that Phil walks on the line, teetering. Dan thinks that if Phil were a dancer, graceful, then he would walk the line straight dead in the middle, and look like he’s floating whilst doing it. But Phil will never be a dancer, and now neither will Dan. It always comes back to Dan, and the train, and the wheelchair.

 

The lights dim and the show starts and Phil squeezes his hand and Dan pulls away, routine. Dan finds himself critiquing the dancers: their posture isn’t straight enough, his arm wasn’t extended enough, her balance wasn’t good enough. He thinks that they missed out not having him perform, thinks that he’s much better. But he’s not now, is he? He wouldn’t be able to stand let alone dance, and what would he do in a wheelchair? Wheel up and down the stage and spin, round and round and round; no jumps, no pirouettes? Clunky, not graceful. He thinks he should stop being so selfish, starts balling his fists into his suit trousers, raking his nails up his thigh, but of course he can’t feel it, so he does it harder. He scratches until he thinks his skin must be raw but he can’t feel anything so he doesn’t stop. He starts punching instead of scratching but of course it doesn’t make any fucking difference. His fists are balled up so tight that blood is trickling down his palm from where his nails are dug in, and tears are filling up his eyes and starting to pour down his face, and somewhere in the back of his brain he thinks that he’s glad the theatre is dark so nobody sees him, but he doesn’t really register it because his mind is so full of the fact that _he’s not feeling anything_.

His throat starts constricting, like his body has suddenly realised that Dan has not been giving it the care it needs for the past couple of months, and now he’s gasping for oxygen. He feels like there’s a weight on his chest, and his lungs have deflated under the pressure but no matter what, he can’t get them to fill back up again. His heart feels like it’s simultaneously racing and ceasing to beat at the same time and Dan’s half concerned about breathing and half totally consumed by the fact that he _still can’t feel anything,_ that he hasn’t been able to feel anything for months, so long that he can’t even remember what it felt like to feel. He used to joke about how unfit he was, used to complain when his legs hurt from doing pirouettes, when his feet cramped from being stuffed in ballet shoes, but now he misses it, he craves it. It was so familiar and now it’s so _unfamiliar_ and Dan doesn’t know how to cope with how he’s feeling. It’s like all of the emotions he’s harboured since the accident are suddenly pouring out, breaking the barriers he put up and he feels like he’s going to collapse. 

He can vaguely hear himself gasping for breath, his choked cries and his sniffling, the scratch of his nails on his slightly satin suit trousers. He thinks he can hear a static sound mixed in with it until he realises it’s everybody around him whispering, the sound of their clothes ruffling together as they turn to point, to stare, to _judge_ and Dan thinks he’s going to die. Somewhere in the back of his brain he feels humiliated, can feel his cheeks burning but it’s overridden by the fact that _he can’t breath_. 

He notices Phil’s hand on his leg and wonders when it got there, wonders when in all the chaos he was feeling in his head he had become loud enough for people to notice, and then he feels himself moving, feels himself lurch and his head is spinning, everything is spinning, and Dan feels just as dizzy as he did the first time he managed a three-turn spin.

 

Dan thinks he must have blacked out because the next thing he knows is that he’s out of the theatre, feels the cold wind on his face and for once welcomes it. He’s still gasping for breath but now he feels less suffocated, less like everything is falling in on him at once.

He sees Phil kneel in front of him, is vaguely concerned about him ruining his suit because he doesn’t remember it and so assumes it’s new, but then again, Dan doesn’t really remember small details like that anymore.

Phil has tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, and Dan can see that he is trying to be strong, but can also see the cracks that are starting to appear.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have brought you here, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..’

And for once Dan thinks about Phil. For once he realises how strong Phil has been, how supportive, and how ungrateful Dan has been, throwing his help back in his face, not even trying to get better.

He’s overwhelmed by guilt and sadness and more tears continue to fall, and he _knows_ that he looks an absolute wreck, but here, looking at Phil and seeing so much love in his eyes being directed at him, he realises that it doesn’t matter.

‘Phil, I’m sorry’

He sees Phil’s face fall, just a bit, and then they’re hugging and it’s 10pm and they’re in the middle of London, but all Dan can hear is Phil saying that he loves him into his ear, and he doesn’t think that that phrase has ever meant as much to him as it did then.


End file.
